


Homecoming

by sadlygrove



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-17
Updated: 2010-03-17
Packaged: 2017-10-18 09:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/187319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadlygrove/pseuds/sadlygrove
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Parting is such sweet sorrow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Homecoming

o1.

"Genghis Khan, you said his name was?" Malik's eyes flicker up from the parchment on his desk.

"Yes."

"How long do you think this will take?"

"A year, I suspect." This is the first time the two men have talked to one another in weeks, after a particularly heinous argument about nothing particularly important. "He is constantly surrounded, by an army no less."

Malik feels his stomach bottom out, feels a coldness in his spine. "I see."

"And I would like to take the boys, in addition to Maria."

"You deem this necessary?"

Altaïr stares at him from his spot at the door. He is, Malik thinks, incredibly far away from him and his desk. "I do."

"So be it; they will become full assassins upon their return." Malik feels the bile in the back of his throat, swallows it down quickly. A year is a very, very long time. "Safety and peace, Altair."

The man stares at him for just a second longer than necessary before nodding, turning to the door.

Just as soon as Altaïr's fingers touch it, Malik's voice stops him in his tracks: "And... come back to me. I demand it."

Altaïr does not turn to face him. His shoulders go stiff, and Malik has to strain to hear his voice: "As you wish." He opens the door, leaves, the sound the door makes when it closes akin to a thunderclap in the distance.

For some time Malik stares at that door, wondering whether his heart is trying to shatter or simply burst.

o2.

Leonardo does not want to wake up. He feels pleasantly sated wrapped in his bed sheets, his pillow scented like his lover's hair. Warm slats of sunshine break through the shutters--just how long had they slept in?--and the pleasant reminders of last night throb on his teeth-marked skin. They had been desperate this time, something breaking loose; Ezio made love to him like a dying man, a man a morning's breadth from execution.

It is no difficult matter to piece together; Leonardo has simply been ignoring it up until now.

Sighing softly, he opens his eyes to the morning. Ezio is doing up his buckles, his belts, his blades, and finally his boots at the edge of Leonardo's bed. "Have you awaken, finally, _caro mio_ ," the man asks, not even bothering to glance over his shoulder.

Leonardo doesn't answer. He instead studies every curve in Ezio's body, every glint of metal in his armor, etching it into his mind one last time. He is not a man deposed to violence, but Leonardo wishes for the briefest moment to... to...

Well. He is not a violent man.

Ezio has finished and stands, heading directly for the window. There is no harsh feeling in Leonardo's heart at this. He knows that if Ezio were to touch him, kiss him, whisper those sweet words into his ear, Ezio's resolve to go to Roma would splinter into a thousand pieces. But, just as soon as Ezio places one foot on the windowsill, Leonardo finally ends his silence: "Come back to me, _caro mio_ ," he murmurs into his pillow. "Come back to me."

It is perhaps the meanest thing Leonardo has ever said in his life, for Ezio's face breaks into something miserable a second before that roguish grin is back again. "It will be as if I never left." It is a lie and they both know it. Ezio places his other foot on the window, and is suddenly gone from Leonardo's workshop, his life, but never his heart.

o3.

"Us. I mean." Shit. "Come back to us." Shit _fuck_. "You sodding git."

It's tricky to tell in the night, but he's pretty sure that Desmond is staring at him with his jaw slightly slack. Shaun takes another drag on his cigarette--fuck quitting, he's earned this one--and blows the smoke over his shoulder through the porch's railing. He doesn't take his eyes off of Desmond, waiting to see whether he'll have to punch the man or hang himself within the next minute.

Desmond shifts from his spot against the glass door, and there's the faint outline of a smirk on his scarred lips. "What was that?"

"Because," Shaun snaps, crushing the pack of cigarettes in his fist, "I would hate to think that all of our hard work scrambling your brain will go to waste because you're thoughtless enough to die." He spits out that last word, grinding his teeth after it leaves his lips.

"Of course." With slow, careful steps--as if he's approaching an angry house cat--Desmond walks to the railing. "It'll be really unfortunate if you have to find some new guinea pig to run your experiments on." Hesitating just a moment, Desmond inches down to the wooden porch, sitting beside Shaun, muscles tense just in case he needs to dodge a slap to the face.

Another puff of smoke, another grumble. "I should have been a florist."

Desmond chuckles at that and relaxes to the point where his leg just barely brushes against Shaun's. They sit in silence for a few more minutes after that, watching the stars over the cabin until Lucy slides open the door. She and Desmond simply nod at one another--it's time to go--and Desmond follows after her. He glances back once at Shaun, looks like he's about to say something, decides better on it, and closes the door behind him.

Alone, Shaun watches his smoke join the stars in the sky.

o4.

There is a grand feast in Masyaf when Altaïr returns with his sons in tow. The young men become full assassins, don the white robes, and song and laughter fills the air for just one night within the compound and even the city itself.

"If you are done," Malik quips, "accepting your accolades, perhaps you'll consider writing an official documentation of your journey? Or at the very least pretend to fulfill your duties?"

Altaïr has never been one for social gatherings; Malik smiles when he sees the relief wash across his face. "You have my journal, what more could you possibly want, _Master_?"

"I've forgotten how lovely your voice is when it's dripping with sarcasm, o' great eagle of Masyaf," Malik says with a snort, leading them away from the party.

"Don't call me that."

"Why not? It's what all of the children in the town are calling you." Malik smirks as they reach his quarters. "Has quite a ring to it, o' great ea--"

Altaïr is upon him, arms wrapped about Malik's waist as he crushes him to the door with a growl. "If you're done being an ass, I believe you're the only person I've not gotten any... accolades from."

"I don't give accolades," Malik says with a scoff. His hand is fisted in Altaïr's shirt. "I give orders."

"Then what are your orders?"

Malik's heart stumbles faster, like a bird caged and beating its wings for freedom. "Lie with me tonight," he says softly, embarrassment burning his skin hot. But it has been more than a year, a year of staring out his window to the east, a year of listing regrets when he cannot sleep. Malik has too many of those wretched things to care for tonight.

He hears Altaïr's breath hitch in his throat before he slowly leans forward, kissing the corner of Malik's mouth and whispering against it. "I've missed you."

"Prove it."

They enter Malik's room and lock the door, hoping no one will notice their absence from the festivities outside as Altaïr shows Malik just how much he's missed him.

o5.

The pile of scrolls Leonardo had been carrying hit the floor, just barely missing his toes. He cannot believe it. It is impossible. It has been five painful, lonely years. "Ezio?"

"In the flesh." And he at least has the decency to look a little sheepish about it.

"I thought you were dead," Leonardo says quietly, forgetting how to blink or breathe.

"I was, for a moment. I died in the blink of an eye and came back," Ezio says with a chuckle before bending to pick up the scrolls. "It's not as wonderful as some people make it out to be--death, that is."

Remembering himself, Leonardo kneels to the floor, helping with the mess. "Those who do are often those who have not yet died," he murmurs. "I'm glad you're in good health, though."

Ezio's fingers still. "I think I've gone mad."

"Mad?"

"Insane, loony, crazy--mad, Leonardo, mad," he says with a rueful smile. Ezio's eyes are darker than Leonardo recalls them being. "I saw things, from the Piece of Eden, glass spires, things flying like birds in the sky, people who--ah, but," Ezio laughs humorlessly, cutting short his tirade. "I doubt you would like to hear of all that devilry."

"On the contrary." Gently, Leonardo reaches out a hand and touches the line of Ezio's jaw. "I would like nothing better, _caro mio_. We can be mad together."

Ezio leans into Leonardo's warm palm, and his eyes grow a little less dark.

o6.

Shaun is going to kill him. Even though he was labeled as 'dead' in the file up until just a few hours ago, Shaun is still going to kill that sodding piece of shit. Lucy was taken out of the cabin by the doctors yesterday, so there's no one to stop him--save Rebecca. And he knows he owes her for that one time she saved his life, but she is _not_ going to stop Shaun Hastings from killing Desmond Miles dead. Once he gets to the cabin, that is--judging by the fifth computer monitor, Desmond is hobbling his sorry arse past Checkpoint C and will reach the cabin in a few minutes.

And, just like the last few days where Desmond's file had listed him as a dead motherfucker, Shaun can't stop thinking of the time Desmond taught him to play pool in the cabin's basement. Desmond had lined up the cue in his fingers as Shaun leaned over the table, waist flush to Shaun's back, a hand on Shaun's hip to keep him steady.

Shaun is going to kill him.

In his mind, Desmond is whispering into his ear something asinine about how good he was at pool when he was a bartender just when the actual Desmond walks in.

"Des', thank god!" Rebecca hugs him, pulling back when Desmond winces at the touch. "I'm going to call the medics and Lucy," she practically shouts, dashing back to her computer before the man can say anything.

Shaun stands, walks over to Desmond just as the man is about to open his big mouth, and Shaun punches him right in his jaw.

"SHAUN! Lay off him!"

"Oh please," he mutters, wringing out his hand. "It was the only place on him without a bruise."

"You're so kind," Desmond grumbles from his new found spot on the floor. "A fuckin' saint--Saint Hastings."

"Patron saint of mending your sorry ass. Rebecca, I'll stitch him up while you get hold of Lucy."

"R-right..."

Shaun walks past Desmond before glancing down at him like he's something to be scraped off a shoe. "Coming? Or do you need a wheelchair?"

"Swear to god, when I get better--"

"You'll make it up to me in spades," Shaun says through grit teeth, the light glinting dangerously off his glasses. "Is that clear, Miles?"

Something in Desomond's eyes clicks, and he manages the barest of smirks through his split lip. "Crystal clear."

"Good." Shaun helps him up from the floor, ignoring Rebecca's stare, and drags Desmond off.

  



End file.
